


Die Another Day

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Spy vs Spy [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Cuddling, Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Scott McCall/Theo Raeken, Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Scott McCall, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Torture, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing flash drive holds dangerous secrets and Scott is willing to do whatever it takes to get his hands on it. Even if it means going undercover in Jackson Whittemore's strip club and seducing the owner for information. It's getting harder to balance being a killer spy known only as The Wolf and keeping what's left of his humanity in Stiles's arms. Especially when his old flame, Theo, would be so happy to drag him back into the world he's trying to escape.</p><p>Or, that Sciles Spy AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die Another Day

The Kanima’s Kiss. It was a stupid pretentious name for a strip club, but it fit with its stupid, pretentious creep of an owner. Jackson Whittemore was a name that was well known to Beacon Hills’s underground. Drugs, prostitution, blackmail, the man had a hand in all of the city’s petty vice crimes with aspirations to be a big time player, though he’d never quite broken out of second string. No wonder he’d been dealing with Daehler, if there was a way for Jackson to claw his way to a little more power and influence, he’d take whatever risk he could to get it. The question was, what secret did the two of them uncover that was worth dying for?

Scott walked into the strip club and wrinkled his nose at the smell of old alcohol, lingering smoke, and sweat. A lone woman swung her lithe body around a pole, but the place was nearly empty at this time in the afternoon. Maybe the daylight outside revealed too much of the club’s flimsy fantasy and exposed its desperation. Things were always better at night when the shadows could hide the flaws and people were too drunk to care about anything but the illusion that they were wanted. Scott could relate.

The young man walked across the room, a mix of nervousness and excitement. A pretty innocent wading into debauchery. The bartender barely glanced up as Scott cleared his throat twice, trying to get his attention. “Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but I have an appointment with Mr. Whittemore.”

“The boss is busy right now, how about you order a drink and just enjoy the show, kid.” The bartender said in a bored tone.

“No, I don’t think you understand. I’m here to audition.”

That got his attention. The bartender looked him over with new eyes, letting his gaze roam across Scott’s broad shoulders to his toned frame. When his jacket hid too much, he was drawn to the long column of Scott’s throat, following how tanned skin dipped beneath baggy clothing. He wasn’t the only person interested. Scott caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man in a bomber jacket watching him with hooded eyes, but he only offered either of them a tentative smile.

“The boss doesn’t let just anyone in,” the bartender said at length, feigning disinterest so well, even Scott almost missed his tell.

“I heard I had to audition,” Scott said, squirming just enough to pass his nerves off as real. His audience was willing to be convinced.

“Hey, Joe!”

The bartender called over a tall, hulking figure of a bouncer. He was someone hired to intimidate. Whether or not he could throw a straight punch was secondary. Scott knew his type well, but Jackson was all about appearances not substance. He still bowed his head demurely as he was lead towards the back corner of the club to where the owner surveyed his kingdom. Scott fell into a seat in front of him, for his inspection.

“Not much to look at.” Jackson said dryly. He liked his employees best when they were desperate for his approval. “Maybe you’re good enough to serve tables. Do you even know how to use a pole?”

“No, but I could learn. I want to!” Scott leaned forward, eager with just the hint of fear in his voice. Siren and virgin, it was a delicate play between the two. A man in a place like this wanted both. The easy whore who wanted everything a client could give and the nervous innocent just begging to be ruined. Scott didn’t know which one would appeal to his target more.

“I don’t have time to train anyone new to dance, I need someone up on stage tonight. If you don’t know what you’re doing, then get out.” Jackson dismissed him casually and Scott gripped the arms of the chair in outrage.

“I can dance! You can’t just throw me out, you didn’t even give me a chance. Please Mr. Whittemore, I  _need_  this. Just give me a shot, I promise I can do this.”

Maybe it was the begging that did it, stroking Jackson’s ego just enough that the club owner finally nodded like he was being generous. “Fine, you have three minutes, kid. Impress me.” He sat back in his leather chair with a smug, satisfied expression. A king on his throne. Scott glanced around anxiously at the rest of the club and the handful of patrons that turned in their direction.

“Right here in front of everyone?”

“Kid, if you can’t get your dick out in front of people, then this might not be the right job for you. Stop wasting my time.”

Scott stood up in a hurry, hands already unbuttoning his shirt. “No no no, I can do it. I-I can to.” He took a deep breath to steady himself, closing his eyes as he opened his shirt wider and ran his hands down his body. He moved slowly, finding the rhythm of the music for the woman still on the stage and turned it into his own.

He rode the beat with his hips, following it with a graceful sway that mirrored the performer. His hands roamed down his chest, mapping out defined muscle as he slowly stripped off piece after piece of clothing. He guided his audience’s gaze, made them undress him using his own hands, pulling himself open before grabbing the back of Jackson’s chair and dragging him closer with unexpected strength.

He straddled him as he undid the front of his pants, leaning in like he wanted to plead for a kiss, before pulling away. He gave Jackson an unencumbered view of his back as he slid his pants lower, showing off the dip of his spine and the curve of his ass, before turning around and finding his spot just above Jackson’s lap. No one was allowed to touch until Scott said so.

Scott played with the siren’s promise and the innocent’s naiveté, gasping against the curve of his victim’s throat as he ground to the rhythm like he was finding all the ways he could fit down Jackson’s cock, or like he had every intention of putting his boss on his back and using him, fixing Jackson with a pointed stare that made him swallow thickly. It was a challenge that Jackson didn’t want to turn away from, made him bare his teeth in a vicious growl, even as he dared admit that there was something dangerous about the pretty little thing who walked into his club.

Jackson lost first, hands gripping Scott’s hips and pulling him closer, and the dancer went with a smile. “I might be able to find a place for you.”

“Yes please.” Scott breathed, bending down so that his lips just ghosted over Jackson’s, making the other man chase him. Hungry eyes tracked Scott’s every teasing movement as he surged to his feet and guided the other man towards his private office, just barely remembering the rest of Scott's clothes.

“I don’t want anyone to disturb us, I need to make sure the one’s qualified for the job.” He snapped at one of the bouncers who just rolled his eyes. Their boss always did like sampling the goods.

It looked like Jackson poured more money into his office than he did any other room at Kanima’s. He liked his rich velvets and expensive wood. They helped convince him that he was more important than a second-rate crook. The second the door closed, Scott shoved him back into a chair and straddled him, hips grinding down against Jackson’s obvious erection. He combed his hands through the club owner’s hair, tightening his grip to yank his head back and lick a long swipe up the racing pulse in his throat. Jackson rewarded him with a quiet moan and Scott smiled.

“You like it when your pretty dolls play a little rough, don’t you?” Scott purred, letting Jackson slide his pants off and cup his ass with calloused hands. “I told you I could dance. Maybe I could do a little bit more, if I get the job. I’d bet you’d love it if I tied you up like a bad little boy.” The man beneath him shuddered, mouth falling open in a breathy sigh.

The hooks were in deep, he could see it in the way Jackson flushed and lean forward to drag wet kisses down Scott’s bare chest. He gave a grunt of surprise when Jackson’s mouth found one dusky nipple, teasing the sensitive skin until Scott yanked him back by the hair and gave him a snarling, bruising kiss. The pants were easy to shrug off, his cock straining against the front of his tight mesh thong.

He stripped Jackson with well-oiled efficiency, forgetting his jacket as soon as it was gone. He rolled his hips and Jackson moaned, throwing his head back, glazed eyes with want as Scott undid his shoulder holster. “Careful, sweetheart, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

A laugh bubbled in the back of Scott’s throat. The subtle buzz of his phone forced him to refocus, but as he yanked Jackson’s head back again and pressed the muzzle of Jackson's own gun against the underside of his jaw, Scott couldn’t stop himself from savoring the way his prisoner gasped.

“I’m going to make this very easy for you, boss,” he whispered, digging cold metal into Jackson’s skin. The other man shivered against him and Scott felt it in his bones, grinding against him until he could force out a choked little whine. Jackson was terrified but that didn’t stop him from wanting. “Tell me everything you have on Matt Daehler, or I’ll paint the carpet with your brains.”

“You dumb bitch!” Jackson snarled, but Scott wasn’t listening to anything but answers.

“You have ten seconds.” 

“I’ll never tell you anything like this you fucking fag. Get off me or-”

“Nine. Eight. Seven…”

The locked door to Jackson’s office opened. Relief broke out across the club owner’s face, but it was short-lived. The man in the bomber jacket entered, without looking back. He scoffed under his breath, but Theo wasn’t complaining. Much. “You always had too much fun like this, Wolf.”

Scott stared him dead in the eye, a vicious smirk twisting his features, before he turned his full attention back on Jackson. “Last chance, boss. I’m not here for games.”

“Go to Hell.” Jackson hissed.

In one swift movement, Scott wrapped one hand around Jackson’s throat, cutting off his air and pinned him to his seat with his weight before pistol whipping him hard enough to break his nose. Jackson never got a chance to scream.

“If you kill him too quickly, he’s never going to talk.”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me how to do my job?” Scott slid off of his captive as Jackson sobbed through the blood bubbling from his nose. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re working with.”

“Maybe it’s just been such a long time since I’ve actually seen the Wolf instead of whatever it is you’ve been trying to pass yourself off as lately. The thong is a nice touch.”

Scott smiled with too many teeth and grabbed his pants, sliding them back over his hips. He stalked around Jackson’s chair to run a gentle hand through the man’s hair. “You told me wanted a distraction, so I gave you a distraction. Don’t blame me if it distracted you too.”

Theo growled low in his throat, watching Scott move hungrily. He was a predator, vicious and empty. Scott knew he was playing a dangerous game if he pushed too far, but that had always been part of the thrill. They were bad for each other, they’d been that way since they were young, driving each other deeper into obsession and competition. Maybe that was why it always felt so good.

“Now boss, why don’t we get back to that question I asked you. What exactly were you working on with Matt Daelher?” Scott left Theo to watch the club owner, riffling through Jackson’s desk. He paused when he found a gilt letter opener, as tacky and ostentatious as the rest of Jackson’s tastes.

“Look, if you let me go, I can pay you. I’ll give you enough to make it worth your while, all you have to do is just walk out that door. I won’t make any trouble, I swear.” Jackson tripped over his own tongue, stuttering through the words.

“Aw, Chimera. I think he’s trying to bribe us!” Scott cooed, tracing the sharp edge of the letter opener down Jackson’s arm. “Cute, but wrong answer.” The blade flashed, stabbing deep enough through Jackson’s arm to scrape the bone. He slammed Jackson’s face into his expensive desk, cutting his protests into muffled wheezes. Jackson blubbered, trying to curl into himself, but Scott wouldn’t give him the leeway to move. 

“You don’t understand,” he blubbered, gurgling around his own blood. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Then boss, we’re going to have a problem.” The Wolf cut him off smoothly, moving Jackson’s wrist until his hand rested in his line of sight. The club owner cried, every movement tugging on the blade in his arm, and Scott pulled it out smoothly, wiping it clean on the back of Jackson’s hand. “Let me present you with another one. You have five fingers. How many can I break before you talk?”

Jackson let out a croaking whimper, flinching at Scott’s tender tone. He kept one hand in Jackson’s hair, gently combing through slicked back locks in a way that would’ve had Jackson eating out of his hand even without the knife. Scott preferred the more direct method though. They were on a schedule.

“I told you I can’t,” he groaned, fat tears dripping down his face. “It’ll ruin everything. You don’t know. You don’t know what you’re dealing with or what they’re doing! Please I’ll give you anything.”

Scott fixed him with a thoroughly bored stare, before sliding the letter opener over the tip of Jackson’s middle finger and digging in to slice off his nail.

Jackson choked, sobbing as he begged. It was pathetic and Scott watched him with a cold detachment, humanity switched off and nothing behind his eyes. “I-if I tell you, they’ll kill me. I can’t!”

“If you don’t, then we’ll have a lot of fun  _not_  killing you.” The Wolf started on a second finger as Jackson screamed. “Trust me, you don’t want us to try. Why don’t you be a good boy and tell me all about Daehler. I promise it’ll stop hurting and whoever you’re scared of won’t even know you said anything.”

The club owner bobbed his head, desperate to do anything to make it stop. “Okay, o-okay!” He gasped as Scott stepped back with the bloody blade. “There’s this flash drive, I don’t have it. Matt found it, he wouldn’t tell me how he got his hands on it, but it was serious. End of the world serious. It’s all hacker shit, I d-don’t understand it. I just set up a buyer and wanted a cut.”

“Selling it, what a good businessman you are.” He mocked and Theo chuckled. “What exactly is on this drive?”

“I don’t know!” Jackson wailed. “I just gave it to Erica, Erica Reyes. She’s going to sell it tomorrow at the Hope Gala, people are lining up to bid on it.” The man hunched over with ragged breaths, trying to stop the tears. “Please…please…?”

“Looks like it’s party time.” Theo’s silenced gun barely made a sound, taking Scott by surprise as Jackson’s head rocked back and blood sprayed across the room in a red mist. It dripped down his face as he turned from the broken corpse slumped back in his chair, snarling at his partner.

“I wasn’t done with him!” Scott snapped.

“We got what we needed, anything else was just wasting time.”

With a growl of rage, Scott twisted his hands in the Chimera’s shirt, slamming him against the wall and bared his teeth. “I’m the one in charge of this operation,  _I_   get to say when we’re done.”

“Ah, there he is.” Theo watched the monster behind Scott’s eyes, breathing out his words in a reverent whisper. “There’s my Wolf. I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. I’ve missed working with you, I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”

“Shut up!” Scott spat, but Theo’s poisoned grin only widened.

“It’s just like old times, don’t tell me you don’t miss it, Scott. The way it makes your heart race, the power to snuff out his pathetic, worthless life when you’re done. I know exactly what it does to you, how it makes you feel. I know you want it.”

The blood beat in Scott’s ears, rage and need tied together so expertly by Peter Hale’s hands. Theo always did know exactly how to unravel his control. He shoved the other man and kissed him viciously, biting down on Theo’s lip hard enough to fill his mouth with coppery warmth.

Theo swore against his lips, dragging him in like he had any chance at keeping him. The Wolf grabbed him by the throat, hard enough to leave bruises beneath his jaw, and Theo’s head swam as he was taken. Scott grounded into him, his hard cock dragging against the cut of his hip, and all he could do was hold on. 

It was always like this between them, hard and brutal, tasting like blood. It was so easy to slip back into old patterns when Theo challenged him and he was riding high on death. Strong hands returned the bruises, decorating Scott’s sides in blues and blacks. The Chimera shifted, catching Scott low and hoisting him up so his legs wrapped around Theo's waist. He rolled them to pin Scott against the wall, the Wolf's heels digging into Theo's back and pants sliding down with each thrust of their hips. Scott was lost, the old ache too sharp to ignore. The carefully constructed humanity was torn down as Theo smeared bloody kisses across his skin as he fought to work his nails deep into the Chimera's shoulders, ready to see which one of them would scream first. In that moment there was no Scott, only the Wolf. It felt so good to finally let it all go.

A sharp rapping caught their attention, and as the office door flew open, revealing Jackson’s bouncers, they pulled away seamlessly, a snarl still twisted on Scott's lips. It was over before any of the guards could fire a bullet. While Theo pulled away with laughter in his eyes, Scott was shocked by how his claws were barely tinged red. Five men were down. Theo made sure none of them were breathing, but Scott didn’t stop him. 

“Where were we,” The Chimera taunted, rounding on his prey, but Scott turned away, struggling to regain his control as something oily and sick settled in his belly that felt all too much like guilt.

“I’m done, there’s still work to do. You should get the intel back to the Alpha, I’ll clean up.”

“Come on.” Theo wheedled, trying to catch Scott around the hips and pull him closer. “You can’t get me going like that and then change your mind. I missed my Wolf.”

“I said I’m done.” Scott shoved the other man away as Theo scowled, reading more into his refusal than Scott wanted him to see. He pretended to find more interest in the surveillance footage across Jackson’s screen, until he realized that there was real reason to worry. One of the videos was playing on a 90 second delay. 

“We’ve got company.”

  


When Stiles stepped foot into Kanima’s Kiss, he foolishly thought that his case was coming together. Nothing was out of place, from the pretty thing playing on the pole to the bored bartender drugging greedy men who were eager for a taste of fantasy. No one paid much attention to a hooded man with too baggy pants. Stiles mimicked their primary clientele, but still, it was almost too easy. He was about to question the integrity of Kanima’s security, then he reached the back office. 

It was a massacre. 

He’d cocked his gun in the time it took most people to blink, slowly making his way through the room to make sure he really was the only one with a pulse. The bodies were still warm, but that didn’t mean much. People in his profession moved quickly. There was no telling where his targets would be by now. He slipped a black ski mask over his head, making sure his face was covered.

Activating the communicator clipped to his ear, he murmured, “Killshot to HQ. We have a situation.”

His message never got through.

“Killshot!” The man hijacking the line sounded warm and full of humor, even through the voice modulation software. It was almost like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “I knew they were going to send someone after me, but I wasn’t expecting the  _second_ best Hunter. Should I be flattered at the attention or insulted they sent the runner up?”

Stiles’s lip curled, his ego bloodied as he stepped carefully through the ruins of Jackson’s office. Whoever was on the his frequency had made a mess, the men had been shot execution style, but it didn’t look like they had time to go through Jackson’s desk. He must have interrupted the attack before they had a chance to finish the job. Stiles started sorting through the mess of papers, desperate to find any clue. “And who the hell are you?”

“You don’t know? Now I’m definitely insulted.”

The assassin froze, glancing around the office like he was being watched. “The Wolf.”

The voice in his earpiece seemed delighted. “So you've heard of me.”

“Of course I have, you murdered eight of my colleagues last year and we’ve been looking for your ass ever since.” The words were sharp, but he tried to ignore the mocking voice in his ear as he ransacked the office looking for anything that could link Jackson to Daehler. He paused, finding a small framed photograph on the desk where Matt and Jackson posed with a smiling woman with long blonde curls.

The amusement vanished abruptly the Wolf’s voice grew icy. “Your people started that mess, I was just sent to take care of it. I was surprised at how easy it was to take them all down.”

Then an airy, taunting laugh cut through the feed, the charm back as suddenly as it had vanished. Stiles couldn’t think of anything other than how good it would feel to tear its owner apart. But he couldn’t dawdle. “Let this be a lesson to the rest of you. The next time you want anything done right, send the Ghost.”

“I’m more than enough to take you out, you piece of shit.”

“Oh there’s no need for that.” Stiles froze, finding a tiny metal canister, no bigger than a glasses case with a pair of red blinking lights. “I’m just the distraction.”

He took a hasty step away from the device and meant to run for the nearest window. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Sitting on the ledge of the second story window, a thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and aiming a sniper rifle at his head was the Wolf. He gave Stiles a jaunty little wave and all the blood drained from Stiles’s features. He took off running. The administrative office of Kanima’s Kiss exploded.

The blast threw his body forward as the air ignited in a hellish whirl of fire. He landed heavily on the grimy asphalt, ears ringing painfully from the blast. He was completely disoriented, every breath seared his lungs and filled him with ash while the world pitched and spun beneath him. Coughing heavily, he dragged himself up the street away from the roaring flames. Killshot heard the low chuckle of the Wolf’s laugh before the line went dead.

Scott was flying high on adrenaline and success. Normally he’d have enjoyed the feeling, maybe grabbed Theo to take the edge off and celebrate a mission gone well. It was tempting to just shut down and give in to it, but an unfamiliar guilt crawled up through the pit of his stomach and refused to leave.

He made a beeline to Peter’s office, ignoring the way Theo tried to get his attention and closed the door in his face. “It’s done.”

Peter lounged behind his desk, dressed in a deceptively casual Italian made v-neck sweater. He always made sure he looked good, taking great care to look like he didn’t care at all. “So I gathered when Theo gave me his report. You forget to knock?”

“That Whittemore guy was terrified about giving up information, this is bigger than you told me.” Scott put his hands on his boss’s desk, trying to calm his frantic energy. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You follow orders. It’s not your place to ask questions.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” Scott snapped, fingers digging into the heavy mahogany desktop. He was always in the dark, information was power and Peter never liked to share. It was infuriating, but the curiosity had been stripped from him years ago, leaving just the unwavering loyalty. It was a mistake to confront his mentor, but the words kept pouring out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I deserve to know what’s going on. Whittemore said it was end of the world serious. What’s on that flash drive?”

The older man smiled and slowly pushed himself up to his feet. “Did you kill them?”

Scott hated the way his heart skipped a beat, how easily it was for Peter to pull on his strings. He backed away from the desk, wide-eyed and stunned despite his best efforts. It was exactly what Peter trained him to do.

“The explosion took care of it. Wiped all evidence,” he said, voice softening without his consent. Yet Scott knew it wasn’t good enough for Peter, and that failure made his stomach twist.

“Five unskilled guards and Whittemore himself… You were too weak to dispose of them.” Peter sneered viciously, and even after all this time, Scott couldn’t fully comprehend what it meant to stand against the Alpha. “Worse still, by my count, you let six liabilities walk free, six liabilities who may have seen my  _best agent’s_ face. You’ve disappointed me, Scott. How much longer do you plan on having Theo clean up your messes?”

He made his way around his desk with a languid gait, but Peter never took his eyes off of his protege. He’d molded Scott into the man he was today. He’d broken him down into nothing, ground him into dust, and reshaped the boy into his most valuable monster. To see cracks in his creation was unthinkable.

“That’s not what happened. Theo blew everything out of proportion and going after all of them is an unnecessary risk.” Scott started, only to be cut off abruptly.

“By this time tomorrow, no one outside of this organization will know what the Wolf looks like. You’re very welcome, Scott.” Peter said, trapping him easily against his desk. He ran a hand down his cheek, eyes lighting up as Scott straightened his stance, refusing to back down. “My poor boy. I’ve been so…worried for you.”

Scott was eight years old again in a moment, terrified and defiant against a man who’d murdered his parents to put himself in their place. He had hated Peter for years, learning to bow his head and accept his Alpha’s training for the day Scott would be able to use it against him. Somewhere along the way, everything had been twisted and that anger had turned to worship, an eager need for Peter’s praise and approval. The Hale could see the conflict in his young heir, but Scott belonged to  _him_  and he knew exactly how to break the boy.

“I’m fine, sir. My success rate is as high as ever, you know I’m the best one out in the field.” Scott rushed to defend himself, but Peter hushed him, tipping the young man’s chin up with one finger.

“I’ve noticed a change in you since that ugly business in Marseille. You’ve managed to complete your missions so far, but you’ve been taking some unnecessary risks that have jeopardized your safety and the integrity of our organization.” The admonishment was calm and almost hypnotic, trying to break through the shreds of Scott’s resistance. Where was this defiance coming from? The Wolf was a masterpiece, too much work had gone in to creating the perfect soldier to let it all fall apart now. “You haven’t been able to eliminate a target in a year.”

Fire lit in Scott’s eyes and Peter knew he’d hit home as the boy jerked away from his touch. “I didn’t need to! I was able to do my job without leaving a trail of bodies that needed to be cleaned up. I was  _better_  than that, Peter. We don’t have to just kill people to get what we want, it’s the lazy way to do it. I’m not afraid to cut someone down if I have to, but those people tonight…they didn’t see anything, you don’t need to send a clean up crew. They’re not our targets, they’re civilians. We can be better.”

For a second, Scott was certain Peter would agree. The Alpha was a proud man who held his organization and all those who represented it to the highest of standards. He would never have supported unnecessary endeavors, and nothing satisfied him than being able to do what his competition could not. It was wishful thinking.

Scott hit the front of Peter’s desk so hard, his teeth rattled in his mouth. Peter’s grip tightened around his wrist, twisting his arm so far up his back, Scott wanted to creep up on his toes. The Alpha was more than the figurehead of one of the most dangerous organizations on the planet, and he had no trouble reminding anyone that he’d earned his position at the top. Scott never saw the attack coming, and defending himself now seemed unthinkable, when Peter’s weight pressed against him, trapping him against the desk. His knee slipped between Scott’s thighs, spreading them until Scott couldn’t get any leverage, even if he was brave enough to try. He’d been in this position so many times before, and Peter knew exactly what he needed to do to make his protege beg.

“You don’t think, Scott. You’re not good enough for it. You should know that by now,” He hissed viciously, breath warm against the shell of the younger man’s ear, and Scott whimpered low in his throat, shameful and vulnerable and too hurt to try and hide it. “I made you what you are. I decide what you are, and what you do. You  _will_ obey me.”

“I did! I did, Peter I wouldn’t never-”

Peter twisted and twisted and  _twisted_  until Scott’s shoulder popped out of his socket, and the most dangerous agent under Haletech screamed.

Scott dropped his head to the desk, drooling against the wood as his body shook with dry sobs. Pain throbbed through him as the older man leaned against his back, keeping him pinned.

“My poor boy, you know better than to make me hurt you.” Peter’s voice took on a teasing lilt. “I put a lot of trust in you, Scott, you should have more faith in me. I only want what’s best for you.”

“I’m sorry!” The words ran together, a gasped apology. Anything to make the lesson stop. “I-I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

A warm hand wrapped around Scott’s throat, squeezing just tight enough to make dark spots dance across his narrowing vision. “I know you are. Theo’s been sending me some pretty unbelievable reports and I didn’t think they could possibly be right. He said you’ve been starting to believe your own cover story.” Peter  _tsk’d_  disapprovingly. “I gave you that position so you could recover after Marseille and move around the city without any red flags. I didn’t want you to lose sight of your responsibilities because some civilian’s gotten into your head.”

“I didn’t, I haven’t forgotten anything.” Scott pleaded, but Peter yanked the young man’s dislocated shoulder again and the world swam as Scott screamed.

“I want the Wolf back where he belongs. I’ve let you take too much time already, that’s my fault. I was too soft on you. Break it off and destroy the records.” Peter smiled against Scott’s ear as his captive squeezed his eyes shut. “Be grateful I’m not ordering you to kill him, that’s my little gift to you. You know I can’t help but spoil you.” With a wet snap, he popped the boy’s shoulder back into the socket.

Peter pulled away just far enough for Scott to curl into himself, cradling his arm gingerly. He swallowed thickly when his Alpha cupped his cheek, touch achingly gentle as he traced the curve of Scott’s mouth. “What do you say, pet?”

Scott couldn’t bring himself to look at him, but he was grateful, so honestly grateful that Peter was showing him mercy. It was almost enough to make him sick. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good boy. Now get out of my sight.”

Scott didn’t run, but it was a close thing. He couldn’t leave headquarters fast enough, indifferent to the curious eyes that followed him all the way out. He couldn’t grip his motorcycle properly and drove too fast, but it didn’t matter, because Peter had given him a direct order, and for the first time in his life, Scott had no idea how he was going to obey him. 

It wasn’t fair. Theo had gone out of his way to sabotage him, and Stiles was being used to punish him. Stiles never should have meant that much, and right now, Scott couldn’t even deny it, not when the truth settled around his throat like a noose and tightened with every passing second.

There was nowhere for him to turn. His shoebox of a home was little more than a storefront display. The Wolf had worn a thousand lives and woven countless stories. He catered his tales to satisfy his enemies’ criteria, just enough to sell his story. The pictures of a mother he didn’t have were only as important as spare towels, and he tore everything down, still desperately trying to convince himself that this was all another cover story. He almost succeeded, but tucked between his toothpaste and floss was a Yoda toothbrush with a light up handle that Stiles Stilinski insisted he have. 

It was absurd and out of place, a memento from Stiles’s Star Wars obsession that Scott could never understand. He never knew what it was like to own anything, even something as simple as a favorite movie. All the meaningless little pieces of life that made up an entire person were missing, covered by a constantly changing mask. He smiled, he laughed, he looked as alive as anyone else, but there was nothing underneath except fangs. It was empty, a blank blackboard ready to be erased and rewritten.

Scott looked at his haggard face in the mirror and couldn’t recognize the man staring back.

With a shout of rage, he slammed his fist against the mirror. Glass shattered, the shards cutting deep as blood smeared across the spider-webbing cracks.

  


“Let go, let go!” Stiles snapped, trying to shoo off a medic who had too much experience dealing with the Hunters to even acknowledge his complaints. Allison rolled her eyes and thwapped him on the knee with her report, like a misbehaving puppy.

“She’s just making sure you aren’t extra crispy. The evac team found you in a bad way.” A little smoke inhalation sucked, but Stiles knew it could have been a lot worse. He was free to fight for another day.

“It was the fucking Wolf. Mother fucking asshole,” Stiles spat uncharitably, and the gleam in Allison’s eyes turned steely. “At least tell me I didn’t risk flambe for nothing.”

“You got nothing.” Allison answered bluntly. She let Stiles work about halfway down his angry spiel before cutting him off. “That photograph you found with the Swedish supermodel? We’ve ruled out any involvement between her and Whittemore and Daehler’s business, and anything useful from Kanima’s Kiss was destroyed.”

“So we’re back to square one?” Stiles sighed.

“We’re… Digging through everything we can find between them. We might have missed something.”

“That’s a level one search! There has to be a better way, Allison. Haletech’s been outplaying us at every step. I’d like to blow up the Wolf next.” Stiles groaned. Two showers later, and he swore he could still smell ash and smoke lodged up his face holes. Allison reassured him that it was all in his head, but Stiles thought _that was the problem._

“You’ll get your chance.” Allison insisted, annoyed that her professional skill was being challenged, but not annoyed enough to kick Stiles when he was on his way to cooked lobsterdom. “Let me take care of this, Stiles. You go home, get some rest. You’re no good to us tonight.”

“But-”

“That’s an order.”

Stiles went, but with only half of his protests holding any conviction. He hated to admit it, but the moment Allison brought that up, a vicious attack of home sickness smacked against his skull. It was way past 8, but maybe Scott wouldn’t feel too bad about it if Stiles could bring home two _dozen_ egg rolls. Screw his cover. He’d think of something to tell his boyfriend. Right now, all that mattered was curling up on their couch and eating greasy food and forgetting this day happened.

Stiles jangled the keys as he let himself into his apartment. The lamps were off, but the television cast a dim flickering glow across the living room and made everything look like a black and white photograph. He dropped his keys on the side table and hesitantly edged into the room, craning his neck to identify the intruder.

“Scott?”

His boyfriend was stretched out on the couch, sleep tousled and wearing an old t-shirt that Stiles could have sworn belonged to him first. Scott started as he jerked awake. He immediately relaxed as he saw Stiles and ran a bandaged hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-. I know it’s late and I’ve been spending too much time invading your space.” Scott sat up with a hoarse laugh, trying so hard to look like he was okay. He kept himself small, shoulders rounded in shame and not quite meeting Stiles’s eyes. There was more said in his silence than in his whispered words. “I just didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“I invited you over, remember?” Stiles joked, trying to make light of the situation, but genuine surprise cut across Scott’s features. Something was terribly wrong. 

“Oh. Yeah, I just - let me help you with that,” Scott started, reaching for their dinner. Stiles dropped the bags on his coffee table instead. They teetered dangerously on three of Scott’s notebooks and Stiles’ collection of comics before steadying, but they left Stiles free to bundle Scott into his arms. His boyfriend sagged instantly, and a fresh wave of anxiety curled through Stiles’ gut.

“Scotty, what happened?” He asked, carefully combing his fingers through Scott’s hair, and wouldn’t stop even when Scott shook his head. He couldn’t look away from Scott’s bandaged hand, immediately certain that he could do a better job at patching him up. He got blown up on a regular basis after all. Stiles rocked first aid like a girl scout. “Come on… You can tell me anything. You know that.”

Scott tucked his face into the curve of Stiles’ throat, breathing deeply and closing his eyes. If he’d ever had any intention of following Peter, the most painless way would have been to leave Stiles a note and walk out of his life forever, but it wasn’t what Stiles deserved, but this? Scott couldn’t do this. “It was just a crash. Some guy got too close when I was coming off the freeway exit. I dunno. I woke up and there was no one around, but it’s fine. I’m okay.”

They stretched out on the couch together as Stiles tried to count the wounds, marking each bruise and the way Scott winced as he moved his arm. A motorcycle accident might have accounted for some of them, but no fall would cause the black and blue fingerprints bruised into Scott’s hips. He only caught a glimpse of them as his boyfriend shifted in his arms, shirt riding up to expose a swath of dark skin. Scott was lying and Stiles could only assume the worst.

“Scott, you should have gone to the hospital. What if you have a concussion of something?” He played along as the worried boyfriend, hiding the seething rage beneath. Someone had done this to Scott,  _someone_  had attacked his best friend. Whether it was Scott’s terrible ex or his asshole of a father, they were going to pay for ever laying hands on him.

“No, I’m okay.”  Scott repeated the lies, just trying to hold on to this moment. He had to break this off, Peter had made the order painfully clear. Rebellion was unthinkable, but lying here wrapped in Stiles’s arm, losing this was just as unthinkable. Maybe he had let this lie swallow him, but for the first time in his life, Scott felt human. Stiles didn’t know the real him, but these days even Scott wasn’t sure what was real anymore. This might not have been who he was, but it was the person Scott wanted to be.

There was no way he could keep this, but that didn’t mean he had to give it up tonight. One more night together wouldn’t hurt. It was a small useless show of defiance when he knew he’d have to submit eventually. Peter always won.

He let out an embarrassingly worried sound when Stiles pulled away, but his boyfriend didn’t go far. Suddenly Scott was swaddled in warm sheets, and there was more greasy take out than he knew what to do with. Stiles dug through the caverns of his freezer to find the last of their butterscotch ice cream, and buried Scott in literally every pillow they had in the apartment. He grumbled to himself the entire time, fussing shamelessly over the other boy, and Scott didn’t even try to protest. It was a pointless endeavor, and the attention was unfamiliar but satisfying.

Between this and their awful night at Loophole, Scott worried that Stiles might have begun to suspect something. His paranoia was a familiar beast, and it wouldn’t have been unexpected if it started to drive a wedge between them. Yet all Stiles wanted to do was take care of him, enthusiastically and borderline obsessively, and Scott couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t fall in love with this boy every day that he knew him.

“This is way too much, dude,” Scott started to say, and he could almost pretend it was about the three orders of pot stickers Stiles had brought home. Stiles wasn’t playing along.

“No, it’s not.” Stiles said, twitching with nervous energy that had nowhere to go, but Scott looked comfortable enough to melt through the couch, and it made something in his chest ease. He made Scott lean against him, even at the risk of getting soy sauce everywhere. 

Scott could feel the rumble of Stiles’s words against his ear. He wished he never had to let go.

“Scott… You know, if there was anything you saw, anything about the guy who did this that you can remember, anything at all, you should tell me. And I promise you, he will never hurt you again.” There was an unfamiliar gravity in Stiles’s tone. His threat was built on steel and stone. Scott had never seen him so serious, and God help him, he almost believed him.

“It was just an accident, dude. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. If I remember anything about what happened, I’ll tell you.” It was ridiculous to think that Stiles could ever stand up to someone like Peter Hale, but the threat hung like a warm promise in the air. Another stupid impossible dream and for a fleeting moment of weakness, Scott let himself want it.

Tomorrow was going to be the end of this life. No more Stiles, no more tenuous link to humanity. No more pretending to be this person he wasn’t. Theo had been right all along, Scott should have just given in. The Wolf was the only thing true about him and tonight had proved just how little he’d changed. He shouldn’t have tried to be something he wasn’t, he knew better than this.

Stiles was obviously unhappy with his answer, but Scott just curled against him and tried to memorize the moment down to the tiniest detail. This was home.

_Loving you was my favorite lie._

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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